The Rake of Hollowhurst Castle

Chapter Five

Taking tea and cake in a lady’s sitting room like some tame cicisbeo, Charles fought an unaccustomed urge to snap and snarl at all and sundry and reminded himself he had a reputation as a dangerous charmer to uphold. He didn’t feel very charming when Roxanne Courland refused to look at him and made certain their fingers didn’t touch when she passed him his teacup. If his one-time crew could see him now, they’d laugh themselves into a collective apoplexy and save the hangman a job, he reflected bitterly.

Instead of dwelling on his current woes, he decided to set about solving one or two of them. First he must find a suitable lady to chaperone his prospective bride. Not easy when only he and Davy Courland knew he was to wed. He sipped his tea with a creditable attempt at looking as if he enjoyed it and took a mental inventory. His formidable grandmother would put in an appearance when Caro’s whelp was due since she doted on her, so he must have someone in place before she decided to take the role herself.

There was Great-Aunt Laetetia Varleigh, his grandmother’s spinster sister. Yet Aunt Letty lacked the inner core of loving softness Lady Samphire hid behind a formidable manner. No, she wouldn’t do, even if she’d leave Varleigh village to lapse into the hotbed of scandal it might become without her constant vigilance. He was reluctantly contemplating advertising when his latest conversation with Tom Varleigh slotted into his mind and made the solution seem so obvious he felt a fool for missing it.

‘Stella refuses to come and live with myself and Joanna now poor Marcus Lavender’s dead,’ Tom had told him. ‘She claims Joanna doesn’t need another female cluttering up Varleigh Manor, so she’s living at the Dower House with Mama and Great-Aunt Letty. She’s stubborn and headstrong, but even my big sister doesn’t deserve that, Charles. Before six months are up, she’ll murder one of them or be fit for Bedlam herself.’

It would be ideal, he told himself, wondering fleetingly if he was as interfering and arrogant as Miss Courland believed him to be. Cousin Stella was in her early thirties and the respectable widow of a fine man who’d died at the ill-starred Battle of Toulouse when, if only they’d known it, the Great War was over and a peace treaty already signed. Stella would be glad of an alternative to living at Varleigh Dower House even if she was too stubborn to admit it, and her chaperonage would be more theory than fact if he knew Stella. Yes, that would suit all three of them very well. Now all he need do was get Stella here without Roxanne realising it was his doing.

A carefully worded plea to Roxanne’s sister to send her word of any suitable duennas might serve, as long as Roxanne never discovered he’d sent it. Eyeing Caro speculatively, he wondered if she numbered the sociable younger Varleighs among her recent acquaintance. He shuddered at the thought of her entrée to the demi-monde, even if it was gained in pursuit of her renegade husband, and hoped it never became common knowledge.

Such a scandal would certainly not enhance the standing of his bride-to-be, if her chaperone had come recommended by even a pretend courtesan and, unlike Rob Besford, he intended to make sure his wife never had the slightest excuse to cause a scandal in pursuit of his closest sensual attention. He reassured himself it was perfectly natural to want to watch his Roxanne blossom in her proper sphere and that he was in no danger of falling in love with her. His wife must be a socially assured and adept hostess and serenely self-possessed under pressure, and if she became his passionate lover in the bargain, that would just be a wonderful bonus.

Yet did he want her to change? She was rather magnificent as she was, and he admired her stubborn determination to go her own way—except it would ultimately prove disastrous. If he let her, she’d dwindle into a maiden aunt, neither happy nor unhappy and criminally wasted. Or she’d marry some weak-kneed idiot who’d let her govern both their lives. The very idea of her chancing instead upon some tyrant who’d try to break her glorious spirit made him shudder and drink his tea after all, only realising he’d drained his cup when he looked into it with offended disdain.

‘It’s all right, Charles, some of us drink it all the time and so far have come to no harm at all,’ Caro teased.

‘But you don’t know what it might do to me if I drink enough of it.’

‘I admit I’m not a man and have absolutely no desire to be one, but it’s a risk I’m quite prepared to take as a mere female, even if you’re too much of a coward to take it on,’ she parried effortlessly, and he saw Roxanne shoot her a doubtful look, as if Caro might not know she was supping with the devil and therefore needed a very long spoon.

He smiled into his surprisingly empty teacup and wondered if he ought to inform her that his friend’s wife was perfectly safe from any wiles he had stored up for the unwary. Best not, perhaps, it might be useful to keep her in ignorance of the fact that, unlike Caro, she was very unsafe indeed.

‘You mustn’t do that, Miss Roxanne, it’s no job for a lady,’ Cobbins, formerly head gardener of Hollowhurst Castle, informed Roxanne a week after she moved into Mulberry House. Even Sir Charles hadn’t been able to protest her managing for the time being with the chaperonage of her personal maid, the Castle housekeeper and far too many members of her former household to fit comfortably into Mulberry House.

‘Why not?’ she challenged grumpily, since every time she found a promising occupation to while away the tedious hours, somebody would raise their head from doing nothing in particular and tell her it wasn’t ladylike.

‘’Cause you’ll get scratched,’ he explained with the patience of a responsible adult addressing a child who’d stolen her mama’s best scissors to deadhead the few late-blooming roses Mulberry House rejoiced in. ‘You could even get muddy,’ he added with every sign of horror.

As if he hadn’t seen her muddy and exhausted many a time after a long day spent in the saddle going about Uncle Granger’s business, Roxanne thought with disgust. ‘Right, that’s it!’ she informed him sharply, reaching the end of a tether she’d clung to with exemplary patience. ‘I’ve had enough of this ridiculous situation. In a quarter of an hour I expect you and your many underlings to assemble in the kitchen, where Cook will undoubtedly curse you all for getting in her way, but I plan to address my household and it’s the only place you can all fit without being tight packed as sprats in a barrel. Pray inform Whistler that I expect the stablemen to attend as well, and woe betide them if their boots aren’t clean.’

‘But why, Miss Roxanne?’ Cobbins protested with the familiarity of a man who’d known her since she was born.

‘Do as I say and you’ll find out soon enough,’ she informed him smartly and swept back into the house to issue an edict to the indoor staff.

‘Whatever’s going on, Miss Rosie?’ asked Tabby, her personal maid and suddenly the strictest chaperone the most finicky duchess could require for her precious offspring, whether Roxanne wanted her to be or not, which she definitely didn’t, she decided rebelliously.

‘In ten minutes you’ll find out along with everyone else, and you might as well occupy five of them by setting my hair to rights and give us both something to do.’

Tabby sniffed regally. ‘Some of us can work and talk at the same time, ma’am,’ she claimed but took down the rough chignon Roxanne had scrabbled together when she managed to rise, dress and steal out of the house without encountering any of her entourage for once, only because she did so before anyone but the boot boy and the scullery maid were stirring. Never mind their aghast expressions on discovering the lady of the house was stealing through the side door even before the sun reluctantly rose on a misty autumn morning, she’d managed her wild ride over the autumn landscape at last, and it’d been worth every exhilarating moment.

‘But we undoubtedly work faster in silence,’ Roxanne told her newly dragonlike maid in a tone she hoped was commanding enough to brook no argument and refused to elaborate, even in the face of extreme provocation. Despite her impatience with such finicky and ladylike occupations as fine grooming and pernickety dressing, Roxanne felt better once her hair was neat and she was dressed in a slightly more fashionable gown, so maybe Tabby was right about ordering some new ones next time she went to Rye.

Such frippery notions went clean out of her head when she reached the kitchens and met the eyes of her assembled staff. Just as she’d predicted, Cook looked as if she’d like to beat the stable-boys with her formidable-looking ladle, and the gardeners’ feet were shuffling as if they had a mind of their own and might carry them back to their proper domain of their own accord if something wasn’t done or said very soon.

‘What’s afoot, Miss Rosie?’ Cook asked her with a terrifying frown that would reduce most ladies to a heap of fine clothes and incoherence.

Luckily Roxanne knew a heart of gold beat under that formidable exterior, and it only needed the long line of giggling maids who lined up to be abused by the paper tiger as soon as they were old enough to work to confirm that Cook inspired love and loyalty in all those who served her, which brought Roxanne neatly back to her sheep.

‘I asked you all to assemble here this morning in order that I might tell you how deeply I’m honoured and moved by your steadfast loyalty to dear Uncle Granger and myself and to thank you for following me to Mulberry House in such large numbers. Which brings me neatly to the other reason I wanted to speak to you: by now I think we all realise this house is too small to accommodate a household large enough to run a castle, and I suggest … no,’ Roxanne corrected herself as she saw the stubborn set to Cook’s, Cobbins’s, Whistler’s and the butler’s collective mouths, ‘I insist that most of you return to Hollowhurst and take up your accustomed roles.’

An incoming wave of muttered protests threatened to become a tidal roar, but she held up her hand and it subsided to a few harrumphs of disagreement from the ringleaders.

‘I want you to consider how you all intend to occupy yourselves serving a mistress who doesn’t entertain or visit much and has no need of the exceptional skills required to run a castle or to progress in your chosen spheres.’

The maids and gardeners, grooms and stable boys eyed each other doubtfully, and Roxanne tried to tailor her speech to make the tougher part of her audience return to their proper domains and quit hers.

‘Sir Charles needs skilled staff to guide him in his new life. Command at sea must be very different to life as a country gentleman with a huge old house and a large estate to administer. I was wrong to encourage any of you to leave, but you know my hasty temper and no real damage has been done yet. Stay here much longer and Sir Charles will hire a pack of strangers to run Hollowhurst, and I doubt that’s what any of us want.’

‘Maybe you’re correct, Miss Courland,’ Mereson, the stately butler, acknowledged with a bland look that led the assembled audience to doubt it, ‘but Sir Granger’s first concern was always for your welfare, so Cook, Cobbins, Whistler and myself will remain in your service.’ He eyed the other three sternly, but received only fervent nods and ayes and managed to look pleased with himself without spoiling the impassive façade of a superior butler, trained from birth to run Hollowhurst below-stairs as Sir Granger had been raised to rule above them.

‘I thank you, but my uncle would be the first to tell you not to be an awkward pack of idiots and get back to where you’re needed.’ Mulish expressions turned to doubtful frowns as they silently admitted she was right. Sensing victory, Roxanne pressed ruthlessly on. ‘You trained your deputies, so how can you doubt they’re capable of bothering me with unsolicited advice at all turns while running my house, stables and gardens almost as efficiently as you would? Meanwhile, you can help Sir Charles in his new life as the master of Hollowhurst Castle, knowing that I’m in safe hands.’

‘Bravo, Miss Courland, I couldn’t have put it better myself, and I must add a personal plea for as many of you as Miss Courland can spare to take pity on me and come and help me run the castle before I’m properly in the basket for lack of your skills.’

Sir Charles Afforde then strolled further into the overcrowded room to stand by her side, and Roxanne wasn’t sure if she was more furious with him for looking as if they’d hatched this argument between them or with her staff for silently ghosting out of his way as if he’d every right to barge into her house and interfere without the least encouragement. Holding on to her temper while trying to look as if she concurred with his every word, although she’d like to kick him sharply in the shins, took every ounce of self-control Roxanne possessed.

‘Good morning, Sir Charles,’ she managed to greet him civilly.

‘Good morning, Miss Courland, and good morning to you all,’ he responded cheerfully, as if he was calling on her in her drawing room and not lounging about the commodious kitchen as if he owned that as well.

A general murmur greeted him, ranging from stately politeness to a flutter of delight from the flightier maids, and again Roxanne had to choke back fury. Just because he was ridiculously handsome and a hero of the late wars, everyone forgot he was also a rake and a rogue. Wishing she hadn’t encouraged any of the female staff to return to the castle, she frowned repressively at them and won nervous, excited giggles for her pains. Hoping he was too gentlemanly to take advantage, Roxanne scowled fiercely at him, but he seemed unimpressed and just gave one of his piratical grins.

‘I suggest you take the rest of the day to consider what I’ve said,’ she suggested to her assembled staff, having little hope of the female section of it hearing her, as their attention was centred on Sir Charles lounging beside her as if he was as welcome as the flowers in spring.

‘Indeed we will, Miss Courland,’ Mereson intoned on behalf of all his minions. After giving the chief among them a few significant looks, he made sure they dispersed to their supposed places in her household, and Roxanne wondered, not for the first time, how on earth they managed to fit into it without constant collisions.

At last only the kitchen staff were left, and the last giggling housemaid had been towed away by more sensible friends. Roxanne looked on Sir Charles with even less favour as he refused to notice she wanted him gone.

‘There’s scones and fresh blackberry jelly if you’d like me to send them through to the drawing room, Miss Rosie,’ Cook prompted, and Roxanne decided her light-as-air touch with such pastries was no compensation for an interfering nature, and Sir Charles was welcome to her.

‘Then will you join me, Sir Charles?’ she managed to say graciously enough. ‘Such a treat is not to be lightly missed, I can assure you.’

‘My thanks, Miss Courland, but it defeats me how you managed to find room for so many in this rather compact house and still omitted to engage a companion to make my visit respectable,’ he carped as she led the way to her not-yet-formal drawing room.

‘If my companion and my reputation were any concern of yours, Sir Charles, I might explain myself. As they’re not, I feel no need to do so.’

‘They soon will be if you get yourself ruined in the eyes of the world because you’re too stubborn to engage a duenna. I feel compelled to see you set right, Miss Courland, as I’m the most likely cause of our neighbours whispering scandal about you living alone so close to the Castle if you don’t see sense and employ a duenna.’

When she would have burst out into an indignant denial that he had any rights or obligations toward her, he held up his hand and Roxanne could see just how this supposedly light-hearted rogue had commanded his own ship and several others with ease.

‘It’s not because I possess a managing nature that I plague you about this, although I admit that’s part of it, but I promised your brother I’d make sure you were well settled and happy. Setting the gossips tattling about you before you’ve hardly got your boxes unpacked and your furniture arranged doesn’t augur well, Miss Courland. But if you cherish some bizarre plan to get yourself ostracised by polite society so you may become a recluse and ignore all your neighbours, then tell me now and I’ll leave you to get on with it.’